The Hand
by BoomChick
Summary: Sometimes, all you need when you fall is one person offering you a hand back up. A gift-fic prize for BMIK! *ONESHOT*


**A/N:** A gift for BMIK/Frank, who asked for, basically, a version of A Brutal Teacher's basic premise without the... Brutal... XD I had a lot of fun writing this! I hope you enjoy it, Frank!  
>Warnings: Some gore. (I couldn't make it ALL happy!)<br>Pairings: None

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FFVII!

The Hand

Yazoo thought he must have been screaming. In rage rather than pain, but screaming none the less. Big Brother seemed to charge them in slow motion, his sword raising sparks as he dragged it over the roof, too wounded and exhausted to raise it.

Loz's pained, angry voice was raised in a scream of his own, his arm held out in a mirror image of Yazoo's own. They were falling apart. Yazoo could feel Loz's death approaching as intimately as his own. As intimately as they had felt Kadaj's. It hurt, deep in his chest, where his brothers had always been-a new, gnawing pain where Loz was being pulled away, as Kadaj had been. It hurt far more than the mist drawing itself out from under his skin, and the feeling of pieces of himself starting to peel and dissolve.

Big Brother jumped, and the time to think was gone. Yazoo forced his focus to narrow on the materia embedded in his arm, feeling Loz do the same. As the materia drained them for one last burst of power, Yazoo reached out with his free arm and grabbed Loz's hand. Loz had only enough time to desperately tighten the grip in return before everything exploded.

The world went white. Yazoo felt something tearing and ripping. He clung to the hand he held like a lifeline. Loz's answering grip was crushingly strong. Briefly, over the screaming roar of the explosion, Big Brother's voice let out an aborted, pained scream.

As suddenly as it had all gone white, blackness loomed. Loz's grip on his hand went slack. Yazoo clung all the harder to his brother, trying to turn to look at him. Before he could, pain struck, hard and fast as a viper. He tried to gasp, choked, and then he was falling. His own fingers slipped, and Loz was lost to him as he dropped. The ground never seemed to arrive. He fell further and further, unable to move.

The whole world was darkness. The only thing he had aside from the dark was the knowledge that he was torn and alone. Even pain receded in the face of that utter loneliness and isolation.

He reached a hand up towards the dark sky, only distantly feeling his hair whip around his face as he plummeted ever-further down. His fingers met empty air as they closed. His heart dropped and sorrowful sickness welled in his throat. He didn't know why, because he knew it wasn't possible, but he'd expected to be caught.

And then, as he felt himself fading, a hand closed over his wrist in a firm grip. He gasped, and choked again. The grip didn't vanish like a phantom of his imagination, but tightened instead. Yazoo winced in anticipation of a sharp jolt as he was brought up short, but none came. For a moment, he feared the hand must belong to Loz, falling with him into oblivion. Then he realized his fall was slowing, gradually, without any strain on his shoulder or arm. He shuddered, lost in darkness, and held above the abyss in a stranger's grasp.

"So heavy!" a young man's voice exclaimed, laughing through the words. "You're going to have to let go of some stuff before I can lift you!"

Yazoo tried to speak, and failed. He struggled to grip the wrist of the hand that held him up in return. His scrambling, desperate fingers met only thin air, as though he wasn't being held a all.

"It's okay," the same voice said, the laugh in his bubbly words quieting somewhat. "I won't let you go."

Soft, careful fingers brushed Yazoo's cheeks, though his wrist was still held firmly. He was caught between shivering and leaning into the contact. It was a gentle, sweet touch, but whoever held him aloft could fly. The list of men who could fly was short and chilling.

"Yazoo," the voice said softly, "that's exactly what I'm talking about. You have to let it go."

Yazoo started to struggle once again to get a grasp on the man, terrified of the fall beneath him. He wouldn't let go. He wouldn't fall.

"Everyone's waiting," The voice continued, still intangible, but sweet and soft as his touch had been. "There's going to be a real, proper reunion. With home-made pie and everything."

Yazoo stopped struggling and fought to speak-whether to ask if it could possible be true, or to curse the man who'd rubbed the loss of Kadaj in his face he wasn't sure.

"Yeah, talking's not gunna work, buddy," the man said with a note wavering between slightly amused and vaguely horrified in his words. "You don't have a diaphragm anymore. Sorry, but that explosion was serious business.

"You need to let go, Yazoo," he went on before the boy had time to register that fully. "You need to let go, and then I'll take you home. Your brothers are already waiting."

Yazoo shuddered, feeling for the first time how horrifyingly incomplete he was. His brothers' lives and emotions could not be felt in his chest anymore. If he had legs after the explosion, he couldn't feel them. He was empty, ruined, and alone. Any chance was worth the risk.

Yazoo closed his eyes and tried to let go. He struggled against whatever it was that weighed him down. Despair welled as he found he couldn't figure out what it was. His breath caught in his throat as misery and fear strangled him.

"Hey," the voice said, stained with worry, "Hey, it's okay."

Yazoo stared up with unseeing eyes at the man. Slowly, with a grunt of effort, he was lifted upwards, before an arm wrapped around him, drooping the grip on his wrist to hold him in a tight hug. The figure was warm and muscular, only a little smaller than Loz.

"It's nothing to be scared of," the voice said softly, a wide hand carefully cupping the back of Yazoo's head. "You don't have to fight anymore. Just let go, Yazoo."

The soft, gentle voice in his ear was achingly familiar, and utterly soothing. Yazoo slowly lay his cheek against a strikingly solid shoulder. He let out a long, shaking breath, feeling something wet drip from between his lips. He closed his eyes, stopping the unsuccessful attempt to see.

He was assaulted by a rush of memories-of Kadaj and Loz tussling and laughing, of riding their motorcycles together like a pack of wild dogs, of a shadow beast nuzzling against him sweetly while his brothers teasingly made gagging sounds at the display, of a red-headed turk with bright playful eyes and a deadly sinister streak, who all but oozed sex, of Kadaj and Loz holding him, the three of them piled together like puppies, sharing an unspeakable peace in each others presences.

He barely noticed when he was lifted gently upwards out of the dark and into the sky. He never saw the Turk standing below, watching what was left of his ruined body dissolve into green. The red-head watched the death with strangely sad green eyes which held not a hint of satisfaction. Finally, when all that was left of Yazoo was a ruined lump of metal that had once been Velvet Nightmare and a puddle of Mako-bright blood, the Turk turned and walked back to the waiting helicopter.

Yazoo was warm, the next thing he knew. He was cradled warmly against his saviors chest. One of the man's arms was under his shoulders, and another hooked under his legs, holding him off the ground comfortably. The man was humming quietly to himself, and moving with a slight bounce to his steps as he walked along. Yazoo slowly opened heavy eyes, letting out a soft sound. The light above him was blinding, and blocked only by a mass of spiky black hair, and a blurry tan form that he supposed must have been his savior's face. He couldn't quite focus on it. He couldn't focus much at all.

He closed his eyes lightly, tilting his head back to catch the light. The brightness made him see red behind his eyelids, but he basked in the warmth none the less. He felt strikingly mellow, lying comfortably in the strong man's arms. A soft chuckle interrupted the humming that came from above him.

"You really are like him," the voice proclaimed fondly, "basking like a cat in the sun."

Yazoo didn't bother trying to respond. He felt like he was floating in the man's warm arms-as though that hold was all that kept him from flying away. He felt good, and whole, and reveled in the quiet around him. Wherever they were, it was a mind-numbing relief from the screaming, constant rush of sound in Midgar. The bustle of life, and cars, and voices had been replaced by the soft, rhythmic pattern of the man's feet through the grass, and his soft breaths.

"Well," the man murmured, shifting his grip on Yazoo. "I suppose we'll postpone the pie until after you've had a nap, huh, skinny?"

Yazoo shook his head wearily, then turned and nuzzled into the spiky-haired man's shoulder. He smelled earthy but sweet, like the Forgotten Forest. A startled laugh escaped the man at the affectionate touch, and Yazoo was squeezed carefully and fondly in his strong arms.

"Not so shy about touching huh? That's one difference between him and you three. One of many."

"Kadaj," Yazoo whispered into his shoulder, only peripherally surprised to hear his own voice, "Loz..."

"Yup, that's who I'm talking about. We're almost there now, if you wanna try walking to meet them."

Yazoo shook his head, shifting his slender hands to grip his savior's shirt. He liked being carried. It suited him well, and he felt far too lazy to be bothered with working in any way. No one but Kadaj could pry him out of a mood this good. His chest ached suddenly at the thought, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He had the feeling that something terrible had happened, but he couldn't quite remember what. He only knew it was something that had hurt to his very core. He closed his eyes still more tightly, trying to keep from remembering. He didn't want to consider it-didn't want to recall what he had lost that had made him lose his breath and cry out in despair.

Despite his reluctance, the memory rose, bringing with it a pain that had nothing to do with being blown apart.

"They're," Yazoo whispered, opening his eyes against the man's shoulder "dead."

"Yeah, the man's voice said softly, "but so are you and I."

Yazoo looked up at him in alarm, and this time he managed to get a good look at the other man's face. Bright sky-colored eyes smiled down at him out of a handsome tanned face wreathed in dark wildly-spiked hair. The wide, happy grin that pulled at the man's plush lips showed white, sharp teeth, and stretched the X-shaped scar on his left cheek.

"You," Yazoo whispered breathlessly, recognizing the face without ever having seen it with his own eyes.

"Me," Zack Fair answered, tilting his head slightly and grinning with enough brightness to rival the sun. "Oh, and warning."

"What?" Yazoo asked, brows furrowing ever so slightly in confusion.

"I'm supposed to warn people before they get tackled," Zack said with a cheerful spark in his eyes.

Yazoo was about to demand a clarification, but was interrupted by a cry of delight from the direction Zack was taking him. He whipped his head around, catching sight of a small house, a modest garden, and a trio of motorcycles parked by the gate.

"Yazoo!" cried the same familiar, gleeful voice.

Zack shifted him before he could look and see the face of the one calling out to him. He turned back to stare at the dead Soldier as he was set on his feet, confusion dulling his senses. Zack only gave him another huge grin and a little wave as he took a step back.

Before Yazoo could formulate a question to cover all the strangeness going on around him, footsteps became audible, pounding up behind him. He whirled, and caught just a flash of silver in the light before he was tackled to the ground with all the force of a steamroller. He grunted as he hit the hard earth, something huge and heavy landing atop him, driving the breath from his lungs.

"You're here!" a tear-filled and chillingly familiar voice cried.

"Loz," Yazoo whispered, blinking sparks and dizziness away, catching only a blurry image of his elder brother looming over him before he was suddenly encased in a heavy hug as the bigger boy collapsed over him with a cry of absolute adoration. "Loz..." he whispered again, stunned, against his beloved sibling's leather clad shoulder.

"What took you so long?" a snippish, sharp voice scolded mere feet away.

"Hey, I had to get th' big guy here first, little sprite." Zack teased gently. "No need to be mean. Besides, your brother was holding on very tightly."

"No," Yazoo whispered in quiet shock, placing the fierce voice. "It can't be..."

Loz only gave another sob against him, wriggling his arms under him to hold him tightly, despite the fact that he was already pressed against him as firmly as possible. Yazoo turned his eyes from the shortly cropped silver hair that was pressed against his cheek to look back to Zack.

Standing in front of the dead soldier, at least a half-foot shorter and as solid as ever, Kadaj was scowling darkly in disapproval. His hands were curled into fists and propped firmly on his hips, and the glare he was shooting the Soldier could have killed, Yazoo was sure. Despite that, Zack only grinned down at him, and tilted his head towards where Yazoo was lying.

As the middle brother watched, Kadaj turned, following Zack's movement, and blinking down at him. The hard glare in his eyes softened, sending his face back into the gentle, loving look that Yazoo recognized so well in him. His throat clogged as he watched Kadaj take the two steps forward and kneel neatly by him.

"Yazoo," Kadaj whispered, stroking a hand down his brother's cheek. His hand was warm and soft, gloveless for once. "It's okay now. We'll never be separated again."

Loz's arms tightened around him at the words, and he nodded firmly against his shoulder, silently agreeing with another little sob. Kadaj's hand spread over Yazoo's cheek, resting there rather than moving away again. Behind him, Zack smiled again and turned, leaving the three brothers in peace together.

The moment Zack Fair's eyes left them, Yazoo let out a pained, breathy sob of his own, the loss, pain, and fear behind him finally catching up all at once. No tears fell from his eyes, but he shook and trembled none the less. Kadaj made a soft, shushing sound, and Loz's arms tightened further still, almost painfully.

In their embrace, Yazoo only distantly noticed the smell of baked goods from nearby, masked by the distinctive smells of his brothers and their leather clothes. Loz's heart beat strongly under his leather clothes, echoed by Yazoo's own frantic heartbeat. Kadaj clucked softly, stroking his cheek with lithe fingers, his sword callouses unchanged from the last time he touched Yazoo. Slowly, the young boy seemed to decide that wasn't enough, and he gave Loz a sharp shove, moving the elder brother to Yazoo's left side so he wasn't covering him entirely.

The empty space was quickly filled by Kadaj's lithe form, pressing tightly against Yazoo's, leaving no part of him untouched by his beloved brothers. He turned his face to bury it in Kadaj's chest, curling his legs up to hide in their embraces.

"Don't cry." Kadaj said firmly but gently. "Don't cry. Everything's okay now. Everyone's here. Everyone we could ever want to see or be with is right here. We'll never be alone again."

"I know," Yazoo whispered against him, managing to wriggle an arm around both his brothers, clinging to them tightly. "I know. Because I'll never, never let either of you go again..."


End file.
